Heir Apparent
by Rostand
Summary: Draco is not pleased with the role that fate has assigned him. With the help of Neville, he tries to change his lines.
1. Part I

Heir Apparent Heir Apparent 

Neville huffed slightly as he crested the slope just to the north of Hogwarts Castle porper, where the clipped lawns straggle into dense forest fringe at the foot of the surrounding mountains. Sunset and curfew were but a few hours away, but with their day off tomorrow, the Gryffindor common room was the site of the typical weekend revels. Usually content to sit on the fringes of the action, tonight Neville had felt the need for solitude. So he had stuck a piece of parchement in his Advanced Herbology textbook, tucked quill behind his ear, and slipped quietly passed the Fat Lady. 

He was heading for a retreat that he had discovered two years ago, in his fifth year, on a scavenge for plant samples. It was the overgrown ruins of some forgotten outbuilding, now standing unroofed to the sky, vines and sapling slowly crumbling the stones, the pavee buckling and cracking as green sprout wormed up from beneath. It was always deserted, and Neville doubted anyone else even knew - or cared - about its existence. That's why he was surprised to see a robed figure sitting in the arch of an empty window. Neville's surpise increasing tenfold as the figure turned to look at him, brushing platinum blond hair away to reveal none other than Draco Malfoy. 

Neville froze, six years of pranks and insults flooding back, reverting him almost instantly to the cringing, hopeless first-year he had never been proud of, clutching his hapless frog. Hoping against irrational hope, Neville began backing away slowly, praying the Slytherin hadn't seen him. 

No such luck. 

"Longbottom?" that aristocratic voice called out. 

Neville steeled himself and stepped out into the open, mentally calculating how long it would take someone to find him if Malfoy put him in a Full Body Bind. "Malfoy." 

A sneer was fixed on Draco's face, his mouth half-open as if to deliver some scathing insult, when abruptly the light died in his eyes and the sneer fell away. He turned his head away without speaking, seeming to return to his contemplation of the school and lake below. 

Neville was confused. Draco had never missed an opportunity to torment a Gryffindor, especially one so universally looked down upon as himself. And the strangest expression on his face, like a mask being dropped abruptly. Briefly he considered his options. He could a) leave, b) confront the blond boy, or c) continue with his original plans. The first was cowardly, the second impolite, unnecessary, and possibly dangerous, so he went with the third. Finding a convenient tumbled stone block, Neville flipped open his textbook and began making notes on the local species of plants used in sleeping potions, quickly losing himself in the intricate diagrams and details. 

Only when he realised that the greying light had him with his nose almost to the page to read did Neville snap out of his scholastic daze and glance up to see the sun blazing red over the mountains to the west, only moment from sinking - bringing with it the schoolwide curfew. Quickly, but being careful not to rumple the pages, he packed his notes away and stood, cracking his back. Suddenly he became aware that Draco was still there, and hadn't appeared to have moved in the last three hours, sitting in the shattered window. Neville was about to leave without speaking, but on sudden impulse called out, "You should start heading back. Curfew's soon." 

Draco didn't look at him, and his voice was quiet, which not hint of derision or scorn in it. "I like watching the sunset," he said simply. 

Neville pondered that as he hurried back towards the castle. While practically, sunset-watching wan't a viable pasttime due to their curfew, Draco probably had Snape wrapped so tightly around his little finger that curfew-breaking would go unpunished and probably unremarked upon. Neville, on the other hand, was already in danger of losing points from McGonagoll if he didn't pick up the pace. Added to the fact that Draco wanting to watch something so poetic as a sunset was anomalous in and of itself. And alone, for someone who seemed to constantly surround himself with flunkies and admirers. 

Seamus glanced up as Neville walked into the dormitory, his forehead creasing briefly. "Neville? I thought you were already in bed." 

Neville just shook his head, but as he shrugged out of his robes muttered, "Thanks for missing me, guys." 

The next evening, after a boisterous trip into Hosmeade, the Usual Suspects were grouped about the fire in the common room, most people reading or making a half-hearted attempt at homework. Harry and Ron were playing some obscure Muggle drinking game with a case of contraband Butterbeer, involving much fist pumping and flinging of fingers, with shouts of "Even!" and "odd!" interspersed at random intervals. Thoma was stretched out on the floor, working on the latest in a series of comics detailing life at Hogwarts. Neville was going over his Herbology assignment, checking the list of samples he had to collect and where he could get them. He was just getting up to grab his bag when Hermione snapped her Ancient Runes text shut decisively and announced, "Anyone for a game of Exploding Snap?" 

"I'm in," Harry announced, breaking off the game. 

"Me, too," Ron said, taking his final penal swig. 

"Can I play?" Ginny chirped up, marking her page. 

As Hermione dealt out the cards, she paused as Neville padded by her, as if reminded of his presence. "You want to play, Neville?" 

Usually when asked to be the third/fourth/fifth wheel, Neville would regretfully decline and seek more solitary pursuits. Tonight, however, he remembered his search would bring him back to the ruins. He surprised himself by turning and settling on the rug between Ginny and Harry with a muttered acceptance. 

The game turned into best two out of three after Hermione beat the pants off of all of them (sadly, not literally), then into best four of seven, then into seven of thirteen. By the time they finally gave up and admitted defeat, it was far too late to go out. 

BUt Neville still wondered if a certain Slytherin was up watching the sunset, brooding alone above them all. 

Neville avoided the ruins for the next few days, seeking refuge in the library (too loud - strangely), the greenhouse (too hot), and sometimes even in the Owlery. But nowhere was as calm and soothing as his green-choked haunt on the hill. During Potions, still being held with the insufferable Slytherins, Neville surrepitously watched Malfoy for any indication that Friday night would be repeated. 

He found none. Draco seemed the same arrogant bastard he had always been, surrounded by toadies and hangers-on. Crabbe still loomed like a misshapen boulder at his side, but Goyle had dropped out before the end of sixth year. Pansy still simpered and clung, but she had coloured her hair an unnatural black, and it hung is craggly, unkempt tresses down her back and shoulders like the vampire queen in old Muggle movies. She seemed to have conceived the notion of what an Evil Overlady should look like and then crammed herself into it. 

Slytherin House had sharply polarised itself, following Voldemort's rise two years ago. The Dark Lord had been moving quietly since then, most believed to rebuild his power base. The Ministry was slow to accept his return, but everyone else wasn't. His eventualy coup was given as a matter-of-course. And people had adapted accordingly. Roughly a third of the Slytherin students overnight became as good as Junior Death Eaters, and everyone knew it. But because Voldemort was still officially dead, no one could prevent them from being treated like any other Hogwarts student. And one could readily identify the leader of this small band - Draco Malfoy, son of one of Voldemort's lieutenants, the 'bad guy'. 

Who sat in broken ruins to watch the sun set. 

But despite this exceedingly grim background, the politics of the school had changed very little, except that there were now five warring groups rather than four - Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, 'Good' Slytherin, and 'Bad' Slytherin. 

Neville mulled all this over in his mind as he laboured under the baleful eye of Snape in an attempt to keep his cauldron in one, preferably solid, piece. He had been overjoyed upon returning in the sixth year to find a portly, middle-aged Potions Mistress in his place, and not so overjoyed when Snape had returned six months later to resume his position. 

By the end of class, Neville had come to the conclusion that their meeting had been a random fluke and Malfoy really was a shallow, arrogant bastard with not scruple or higher feelings whatsoever. And then, as Malfoy led his henchpeople out of the dungeon, deliberately brushing past Neville and shoving him against the wall, the Gryffindor felt a slip of parchement drop into his hand, and he automatically palmed it. Then the Slytherins had breezed off down the hallway and Hermione was patting his arm in a concerned kind of way. 

"All right there, Neville?" she asked, glaring down the corridor. 

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he muttered somewhat vaguely. "C'mon, we'll be late for lunch." The edge of the parchment was digging into his palm. 

It wasn't until halfway through lunch that he worked up the nerve to look at it. Scrawled there at an angle was the message, 'Didn't mean to scare you off. I won't be there again. DM.' Immediately Neville felt a wave of guilt. It was entirely possible that Draco was looking for the same thing Neville was - a quiet spot away from people. And now Neville, by being a bloody coward, had deprived him of that. And now there was no way he could communicate this. It sunk him into a pensive funk for the rest of the day - not that anyone notices - and drove him out of the castle immediately after supper that night. He tramped through the high grass and the fringes of the Forbidden Forest, muttering a quick preseravtive spell over each clipping he carefully extracted from the various plants, noting each location and species as he worked. 

His final stop was the ruins on the hill. He trudged up to it cautiously, but found it empty, bringing back the faint feeling of guilt. With a sigh and a business-like shrug, he set down his bag and hunted down his last two specimens. 

It was as he was drawing a diagram of a delicate purple five-petalled flower that the sound of a twig snapping made him jerk upright, eyes wide as he hunched over and twitche his hand towards his wand. Standing there, framed by the crumbling remains of a wall, was Draco, his dark robes almost blending into the forest scrub, his grey eyes almost hidden in the shadows. There was a moment of tense silence, which Draco broke suddenly, his voice neutral. 

"Sorry. I thought I'd just -" he paused. "Nevermind. Goodnight." Abruptly he turned. 

Tiny demons of guilt attacked Neville with very pointy pitchforks. His work tumbled to the ground as he jerked upright and took a few steps forward. "Wait!" he said, his voice sounding unnaturally loud. Draco froze. Neville swallowed. "I don't have any more right to this spot than you do," he said quickly. "So . . . you can stay if you want to." 

Draco was silent. He nodded curtly and, not quite looking at the other boy, walked over to his perch, swinging up and settling into place with fluid grace. Feeling slightly self-conscious and awkward, Neville gathered up his papers and set to work again. Again as the sun began to set he left the Slytherin boy to his contemplations and trudged back down to the school. Thus began a strange nightly ritual. Neville wasn't sure why he felt drawn to return night after night to spend a few silent hours with the growing enigma that was Draco, but he did, sometimes bringing a book, sometimes not. During the day, Draco seemed unchanged. At first, Neville thought that Malfoy was still taking every opportunity to insult Harry and his gang, but he soon realised this was not the case. If attention was brought to the Gryffindors, Draco would launch some verbal attack, but no longer did he deliberately provoke. They never spoke in these nightly meetings, barely acknowledged the presence of the other. 

It was perhaps a fortnight after that Potions class when the first game of the Quidditch season was played, Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw, with a very close finish despite Harry's spectacular capture of the Snitch. There was, of course, the requisite house party following, into which Neville was irresistably drawn, until early in the morning when Ginny actually fell off her chair, asleep. 

Neville found himself formulating excuses as he trudged towards the ruin, finally discarding them all with a snort. _Bloody arrogance, thinking he'll even care_, Neville though to himself, then blinked in surprise as he stopped dead by the entrance arch. Draco was perched in his normal spot, but at Neville's approach jumped down with a catlike grace and stalking towards him, stopping a few feet away and glaring, arms akimbo. 

"You didn't come last night." The growl was not a question. Neville suddenly realised he had at least six inches on the other boy. 

"The Quidditch match," Neville began, then stopped. Curiosity made his bold. "Why does it matter?" 

Something fell in Draco's face, closing it off. He began to turn away. "It doesn't." 

Neville lunged after him, grabbing him by the arm. "Oh I think it bloody well does," he retorted. "You've had nothing but contempt for me since the day we met, and now suddenly you respect my privacy, seem to note my presence, and quiet reflective thought doesn't exactly seem like the Malfoy cup of tea." 

Draco snarled, shrugging off Neville's hand. "What would you know, Longbottom? At least you -" 

Neville could almost hear his jaw snap shut. "At least I what?" 

"Nothing," Draco replied shortly, turning away and marching determinedly back to the window. 

Neville was not to be deterred. "Why do you come here, Malfoy?" he asked, genuinely curious. 

Draco sighed, as if unsure how to answer. "Because I like the quiet," he said finally, pugnaciously, daring Neville to contradict him. "That damn castle has too many people in it. Isn't that why you come here?" 

The Gryffindor neatly sidestepped the diversionary ploy. "I thought you liked people," he said, settling on an outcropping. "Your droves of cronies and hangers-on." 

Draco laughed, a short bark of scorn. "Just because I have them doesn't mean I want them. Bloody peons, the lot of them. You are the lucky one. No one cares about your comings and goings. You've got some peace." 

Now it was Neville's turn to laugh. "You envy me? Being socially invisible is no cakewalk, you know." 

Draco's brows knit in confusion. "Cake . . . walk?" 

Neville flapped a hand. "Muggle terms I picked up from Hermione. It means 'really easy'." 

There was a strange flicker in Draco's eye when Neville said 'Muggle', then the wall came down again. He turned away again. "Why am I even telling you this?" 

"Because you can't tell anyone else?" Neville offered. "Happens to me a lot. Even though, I have to say that introspection is horribly out of character for you." 

Draco leaned his head back against the rough stone. "I wish it was. Life would be much simpler if it were." 

Neville waited. He could tell the Slytherin had more he wanted to say, but couldn't find the words. 

"We all have roles to play," he said finally, flicking a stray hair out of his eyes. "Potter gets to be the Hero, Weasley is the Sidekick, Granger's the Brains. Me? I'm the Bad Guy. The Villain." His voice had an ironic, self-mocking twist to it. "Sometime I even envy POtter. He had eleven years of being normal, not being the Hero. But my father . . . my father has drilled into me since birth the Malfoy family values. Ruthlessness, Power, Breeding . . . and unswerving loyalty to the Dark Lord. Dear Daddums made me his successor, with all that entails. A perfect little copy." The mocking tone seemed to drip acid and self-loating. "My father's son." 

Neville was silent, his mind racing as he tried to reassembled his mental picture of Draco with all the new pieces. "What role do I play?" he asked finally, his tone light. 

Draco looked at him in surprise, his eyes narrowing as he looked him over. Draco had thought of him as the pudgey, quailing little boy he had been, but now saw that he was wrong. The young man gazing calmly back at him was tall, shoulders broadening to accomodate. His hair was short and slightly unruly, his face square, and he radiated a kind of quiet, competant strength. "Ask me a few years ago, and I would have said Cannonfodder," he said slowly. "Now, I'm not so sure." 

A grin slid across Neville's face. "Brutal honesty. Was that in character?" 

"I don't know," Draco replied, frowning. "But you're quick, Longbottom." 

Neville ducked his head in acknowledgement. "I try. So what else is 'in character' but 'out of role'?" 

Draco gave him an odd look. "Why do you care?" he asked, not scornfully, but curiously. 

Neville frowned. "I don't know. Inherent curiosity? Masochism?" 

Draco snickered. "I think a trip into my psyche definitely counts as the latter." He sobered. "It might be nice, to take the mask off for a bit. But -" 

Neville shook his head. "You have a reputation to maintain, I know. I won't say a word." 

Draco shook his head emphatically. "You make it sound juvenile. If word got back to my father that I wasn't the little prick he knows and loves, life could get very dangerous for me. And you." 

It was the haunted look in his eyes more that his slightly melodramatic statement that made Neville soberly agree. It was almost as dangerous, he realised, to be Draco's friend as Harry's. They spoke no more that night, but the silence wasn't uncomfortable, as each boy pondered the implications of this new not-quite-but-almost-friendship. 

Go read part II!


	2. Part II

Heir Apparent Part II Heir Apparent Part II 

It was a sad, strange year at Hogwarts. Voldemort had begun to move in the wizarding world, and news of new atrocities and ocunterstrikes filtered into the castle by way of the _Daily Prophet_, as the teachers and older students grew grimmer by the day. The reformed Dumbledore's Army practiced almost daily, often late into the night after curfew. The castle was sealed off, visits to and from Hogwarts cut off completely. But through it all, as the seasons rolled steadily on, every evening - or close enough - after supper, Draco and Neville met in the ruins above the castle. Sometimes they talked but mostly they sat or worked or read. But when they did talk, both were pleasantly surprised at what they found. Draco found Neville to have a dry, quiet sense of humour and could at least keep up in a discussion of politics, with a broad appreciation for Draco's almost continual sarcasm and witty repartee. Neville had a way, as well, of getting to the heart of the matter with the fewest words possible, and an impeccable sens of delicacy, knowing precisely when and what to drop. 

Neville, on the other hand, found a decided lack of any such delicacy in Draco. The Slytherin had a brutal honesty and almost no tact, but with an innocence about it that attracted rather than repelled. His tongue was as quick as ever, but as he ruthlessly lampooned professors and political figures, Neville heard no malcice behind it. Neville was surprised to find an exceedingly quick mind behind the indolent aristocratic facade, one that could almost rival Hermione's, with a bit of application. At the same time, he was far too lazy to work at his studies, scoring him just below Neville. Every ation and word had a kind of ruthless logic behind it, and Neville was fairly sure this logic could morph fairly quickly into a complete lack of scruples. Draco was also introspective and had a philosophical bent, often being able to follow a comncept through complex twists and turns to a resolution. 

The blond boy grew pensive as the leaves began to drop, his eyes hollow and haunted, and he refused to tell Neville the reason for it. But he could guess. It probably had something to do with the almost daily owls from Lucius. Neville was fairly sure they contained a slightly different story than the _Prophet_. He grew waspish as the snows began to fly, but Neville patiently endured his outburts, usually managing to jolly the aristocrat into some semblance of good humour. Neville noticed a similar waspishness in Harry. The triumvirate of Harry, Ron, and Hermione were drawing inwards more, and there were fewer and fewer raucous games of snap or chess. And Neville had been awakened not a few times by Harry's midnight nightmares. 

The first Hogwarts-related casualty came in the second week of December, when snowdrifts had piled up against the pillars and walls of the courtyard. Chatter in the Great Hall fell to almost a minimum during breakfast as Dumbledore emerged from an antehamber, his face grave, and swept down the hall. He stopped about a quarter of the way down the Ravenclaw table leant over, murmuring to a black-hari fifth-year, who face turned immediately pale as she stared up into the headmaster's wrinkled old eyes. Gently, the old man led her from the Hall. A buzz of conversation rose in their wake. 

"It's started," Draco said in a hollow voice. A twisted grimace that could almost be called a grin crossed his face. "Y'know, every other person I've seen today treats me like I personally ordered the attack on that girl's father." 

"Kim Coltrane," Neville said, leaning back on his elbows. "Her name's Kim Coltrane. Both her parents are wizards, but her mother was Muggle-born. She has two brothers. One's a Squib, he's at a Muggle university, and the other works for Flourish & Blotts in Diagon Alley." 

Draco gave him a sideways look. "That's . . . strangely comforting to know. It would be so much harder to kill people if you know things like that. How do _you_ know it, may I ask?" 

Neville shrugged. "I know most everyone fourth year and up, even if they don't know me. I hear a lot." 

Draco sighed and rested his head back against the stone. "Everyone clams right up when they see my coming. Oh yes, the Junior Dark Lord himself," he sneered. 

Neville huffed. "If you feel so strongly about it, do something. You can't be your father's malleable pawn forever. Show some damn spine." 

"Bloody wonderful advice coming from you, Longbottom," Dracp snorting, reverting to surnames for the first time in weeks. Neville let it slide. "I just . . . can't. You expect Potter to throw in the towel and say, 'I'm through with all this nonsense'? He couldn't even if he wanted to. And it's the same with me." 

Neville sighed. "You know, Draco, sometimes you're such a bloody drama queen." And he tramped off down the slope, leaving the Slytherin gaping behind him. 

Time marched on, Christmas passed, a subdued affairs despite having the entire student body stay at the castle for the holidays. There were three more students who lost family in the week that followed, all Muggle-born. It didn't snow that year, just got bitingly cold, as if the weather itself had fallen before Voldemort. The world seemed to be holding its breath. The murders trickled off. Everyone knew it was the calm before the storm, just nobody knew when the storm would break. Or how long it would last, and what would be left when it was over. 

It was a cold, clear morning one day late in January. The roof of the Great Hall showed a cloudless sky, the white circle of teh winter sun glaring down at them. Neville barely glanced up as the rustle of wings announced the morning mail. He heard Hermione scoff a few seats away, "Looks like Malfoy's getting his marching orders." 

Neville glanced over at the Slytherin table, trying to make it look casual. Draco was staring at the parchment clutched in his hand. His complexion was naturally pale, so Neville was fairly sure that no one had noticed that it had now gone paler. He felt a sudden chill and apprehension as to what was in that letter. Then pansy leaned over and Draco's stony face broke into a practiced leer as he folded the parchment and slipped it inside his robe, tapping the side of his nose in a gesture of knowing superiority. Neville looked away. It was still disconcerting when he saw Draco with this mask on. If a mask it was. He had never been able to shake the feeling that this was all just some elaborate game for Malfoy's amusement. And as always, Neville allowed him the beneift of the doubt and pushed the thought away. 

It was late when Neville hurried towards the ruins. With dusk coming earlier, they had less and less time each night to talk, but now the days were slowly growing longer again. He wouldn't have even come, but he had to ask about the letter that morning. But when he got there, he paused, confused. Draco wasn't on the windowsill, his customary perch. Instead, he was standing before it, his fingers gripping the rough stone of the sill, his shoulders hunched as it standing was an effort. Neville took a cautious step forward. 

"Draco? Draco, what's wrong?" 

There was no sound by Draco's heavy breathing. Neville took another step forward, his foot crunching on the forest litter. Their breath hung in the air like cobwebs. Neville was about to speak again, when Draco whirled abruptly, a desperate fire in his eyes and his hair flaring wild about his face. As he turned, he drew his wand. Neville didn't move as Draco brought it to bear, screaming, "_Crucio!_" 

Neville fell to the ground, screaming as he was engulfed in total pain, every nerve ending with its own personal pain technician. It lasted less than a minutes, and when it stopped abruptly, left him panting. Weakly, he raised his head. "Why, Draco?" 

"Hate me, dammit!" Draco roared, then pointed his wand again. "_Crucio!_" 

The Gryffindor scream again as the pain came again. He was on fire, her was freezing, he was being stung by thousands of hornets, he was being ripped apart by claws. And then it stopped. "Draco . . ." he gasped, trying to force words out from an abused throat. "I don't . . . hate you . . . I won't . . ." 

"You have to!" Draco growled. "Everyone else does. Hate me, Neville! _Crucio!_" Again and again he cast Cruciatus, Neville's screams absorbed by the silent forest around them. He cast it until his hand was shaking and his voice was coming in sobs. His wand clattered to the ground and he dropped to his knees beside Neville's prone form. 

Neville's mind was a foggy haze. He was aware that the pain had stopped, as every muscle and fiber throbbed with phantom sense-memory. He was aware of the arms that encircled him, pulling him off the cold ground, holding him against a warm chest. Draco's face was buried in his hair, and Neville could hear the repeated half-sobs, like a mantra. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry . . ." 

Although his arm seemed filled with lead and every muscle screamed in agony, Neville raised his hand and placed it over Draco's on his stomach and squeezed slightly. Draco's voice trailed off, but Neville could feel his shoulders still shaking. The blond boy didn't seem inclined to move, and Neville wasn't sure he could even if her had wanted to, so they stayed like that for a long while, as Neville regained his breath and the pain receeded. It was comfortable, leaning back against Draco, the slight warmth of his hands against Neville's cold ones. The sun had long set now and night brought a deepening chill. Although Neville knew that prolonged exposure was just a bad idea, it could possibly prove fatal, but somehow he had no real inclination to move. 

Draco shifted, just a little movement, but the brush of pale blond hair against his cheek brought him suddenly into full awareness of exactly how they must have looked to an outside observer. He twisted, his neck throbbing in dull protest, acutely aware of Draco's chest pressed against his back, their arms resting alongside each other, and now, Neville's head turned, their faces were scant centimetres away from each other. Time seemed to stop. They remained frozen like that, breath hanging before them, grey boring into brown. 

And of course, that was the moment that Dumbledore chose to step into the ruins. His old eyes darkted about, taking in everything, missing nothing. His face like a thundercloud, he strode over to them and seperated them, despite his decrepit exterior lifting them both easily by the backs of their robes. 

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Longbottom," he said calmly, reprovingly. "I have no idea what's going on here, but it is to stop. Curfew is long passed and you, Mr. Malfoy, should know that this is a danegrous time for any students to wnader the grounds freely. 20 points from each of your Houses." 

Draco twisted out of Dumbledore's graps and grabbed his wand. "20 points? Wait until my father hears about this flagrant display . . ." 

Draco continued to kvetch as Dumbledore marched them back to the castle. Neville's legs were shaky and it still hurt to move, but through ruthless application of will he kept himself upright and mobile. They had obviously been gone longer than both had guessed, as most of the teachers were standing in the front hall, talking in small groups. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Hermione, Seamus, Lavender, Parvati, and Thomas were huddled in a group by the stairs. Pansy, Crabbe, and an assortment of Slytherins were in a similar huddle by the entrance to the passageway to the dungeons. At Dumbledore's entrance with the boys in tow, everyone looked up, and the wave of relief that rolled through the room was almost crushing. 

In fact, it did prove crushing. As Ron and Hermione hurried forward, the others close behind, Neville's will drained away. His knees buckled and he slowly toppled to the cool stone floor. A thick veil of grey was over his eyes, but he was lucid enough to see Draco struggling against the grasp of Snape and Harry shouting, "Going to kick him when he's down, Malfoy?" 

"Fat lot you know, Potter," he snapped back. 

Dumbledore's eyes flashed. "Mr. Malfoy, in my office. _Now_. Hagrid, please bring Neville to the infirmary." 

The last thing Neville knew was being lifted off the ground and a deep, rumbling voice saying, "All right, there, Neville." Then he fainted. 

To part V! III, milord! III! 


	3. Part III

Heir Apparent Part III Heir Apparent Part III 

The next day, Voldemort took Azkaban. The Ministry wizards defending it were all killed, many by the Dementors, who had gone over to Voldemort exactly as Dumbledore had predicted they would. The cells had been emptied, their inhabitants now swelling the ranks of the Death Eaters. 

When Voldemort had finished at Azkaban, he came for Hogwarts. The combined magical forces of Voldemort and the Death Eaters brushed through Dumbledore's defences and bore down on the castle proper. The teachers lined the walls, wands held at the ready. Dumbledore's Army stood among them, Harry and Hermione at Dumbledore's side. Hagrid stood with them. Though he had no wand, a motley squadron of the more unpleasant beasties of the Forbidden Forest were at his command. 

There was a brief crackle and retort as spells were exchanged, curses and hexes sliding harmlessly off each other. 

There was a sharp crack of a command, and the masked Death Eaters simlutaneously lowered their wands. There was a movement in their ranks, and they parted like a black sea. A figure, deeply robed and cowled in black, strode froward, a Death Eater three steps behind him to the right, a Dementor gliding to his left. The face that looked up at the battlements was cold, reptilian, and breath-takingly beautiful. Voldemort's icy eyes swept the lines of defence, amusement flickering in their depths. A smirk slid across his face as his gaze came to rest on Dumbledore and Harry. 

"Don't worry, old man," he said, his voice carrying clearly through the still air, sending chills up the spine of all present. "I'm not here for your precious school - nor for you, Potter. Our time will come." 

"What do you want, Tom?" Dumbledore asked calmly, his wand steady. 

Voldemort's mouth twisted into a snarl. "Never use that filthy Muggle name on me, old man!" His shoulders heaved briefly, then he seemed to regain control of himself, lifting his chin again. "But since you ask, I want what's mine." 

There was a sudden scuffle at the main doors of the castle. Everyone heard Pansy's cry of, "Let me go!" and a male voice yelling, "_Expelleramus!_" Then, amazingly, the doors began to creak open. Pansy tumbled out and almost scurried to Voldemort's side. He smiled at her, a self-satisfied smirk, and patted her on the head as if she were a dog. In ones and twos, Slytherins began to march out of the castle. Dumbledore called their names as they went, imploring them, but none turned. 

Draco was the last one out, his pale blond hair gleaming in the winter sun as he flicked his wand perfunctorily at the castle doors, shutting them. Neville wasn't aware that he was moving until he hit the parapet, leaning as far over as he could. 

"Draco, no!" his voice range out unnaturally loud. 

He paused, then slowly turned back, looking up at Neville. Their eyes held silent communion - Neville begging him to stay, offering him the chance to play the hero, and Draco apologised for what he had to do. It lasted less than a second, and Draco turned away again. Neville sagged, defeated. 

"A friend?" Voldemort rumbled as Draco approached. 

"A no one," he reeplied coldly, the sneer evident in his voice. 

Voldemort looked up again, and then at the students and teachers lining the walls. "Anyone else?" he called. "Severus? Come to your senses yet?" 

"Get out of here, Voldemort," Dumbledore said, drawing himself up. "Go!" 

Still smirking, Voldemort dropped his head in acknowledgement and turned, striding back through the Death Eaters with his arms around the shoulders of Draco and Pansy, the Slytherins following behind. The Death Eaters fell in behind, a black mass that suddenly vanished, leaving only the shocked school gaping after them. 

Hogwarts was no longer safe. All classes were cancelled, and every student up to fourth year was sent hom or to relatives. Fifth year and up were given the choice of going with the younger forms or staying at the school for intensive defensive training, and all spells useful in a magical war. It was made very clear that this was not the Boy Scouts, it was a regiment training for war. Most of Hufflepuff went home, the few remaining almost all seventh years who had helped Harry at one point or another. Twenty Ravenclaws stayed and almost all the remaining Slytherins as well, as if to account for their Housemates' desertion. To the man, the Gryffindors stayed. 

Neville surprised everyone by volunteering before even Harry had a chance. 

To make it short, there was a war. It was long and brutal, witches and wizards dying daily. And it didn't stay in England. It spread to the rest of Europe, then Asia and north Africa. And Voldemort was winning. He had complete control of all his forces, while the other side's generals were scattered and bickering. The Aurors worked alone, no one would use the HOgwarts students, the Ministry bogged itself down in bureaucracy. The nominal leader of their forces was Dumbledore, but four months after the beginning of the war was assassinated in a blitzkrieg attack that left fourteen top Death Eaters dead. Harry stepped into the role built for him. With Hermione as tactician, he lead a series of attacks on Voldemort's forces, relying on speed and simplicity, devastating to an enemy who prized ceremony and appearances. 

At the same time that Harry was growing to prominence, Draco was making his own mark on the other side. Lucius was also dead, killed in a raid by the ex-Hogwarts students. Draco acted the carbon copy of his father, rapidly gaining a reputation as a cold and calculating killer, his logic more frightening than his father's impassioned hatred, until Draco's name was mentioned with almost as much fear as Voldemort's. 

With every new report, Neville wondered if those evenings in the ruins above Hogwarts had been a dream. 

A mistake was inevitable. Harry was good, but he was still just barely eighteen. Three Ravenclaws died silently as they stood guard outside the Burrow, taken over as their HQ when the Weasleys had scattered to their own tasks. They moved through the sleeping house, effectively capturing the ringleaders; Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Justin Finch-Fletchley, two Ravenclaws and two Slytherins. 

Neville came to consciousness abruptly, and felt the top of a wand move away fom his forehead. He blinked, gazing around the room with narrowed eyes, taking it all in. They were in a huge chamber, the floor marble-lined, flawless marble columns rising to the vaulted ceiling high above. A gigantic black throne stood on a dais at one end, the dais sweeping out in a curve, with three steps leading to the floor. The throne was pure back, and gigantic violently green snake was draped across its back. Dath Eaters lines the walls, still as statues. Neville was standing in the centre of the chamber, a Death Eater holding his hands behind his back and a wand pointed at his head. Hermione and Ron were standing beside him, in a similar position. 

Neville realised with some horror that there were bodies pile to either side, their blank-eyed faces grown familiar from fighting beside them. Harry was on his knees, hands bound behind him, facing them, and from the look in his eyes he had been forced to watch as they were killed - probably painfully, most definitely slowly. Voldemort's cruel face was twisted in amusement as he stood over his enemy, who had begun to struggle when the Death Eaters had woken his friends. 

"I would love to kill you myself," Voldemorts purred. "But one must keep the minions happy." He turned and swept up to the throne, sitting down regally and reaching up to stroke the snake who lopped about his shoulders. 

Neville started as a very familiar figure stepped out of the shadows. The green lining was gone from his robes, and his hair was longer. But he was still very much Draco. The strut, the insolent smirk, the grey eyes snapping with humour, all of it. Twirling his wand absently in one hand, he strutted down the steps, idly circling the kneeling Harry. 

"Hello, Potter," he said, with the usual venom in his voice as he practically spat Harry's name. "You've been busy. I'm surprised you've managed to deal after we popped off the old coot. I didn't know you function without someone to suck up to." 

"Speak for yourself, Malfoy," Harry growled. "Still can't think for yourself, only now you're dancing to _Tom's_ tune instead of Snape's." 

Abruptly, Draco kicked Harry, a sidewinding heel to the jaw that knocked him backwards. "Never speak the Dark Lord's name!" he snarled, hauling Harry upright again by his black fringe. Ron gave a shout, struggled briefly, and was subdued. 

Then, almost casually, Draco began circling him again. "Do you remember our first encounter with old Mad Eye?" His eyes gleamed strangely. "He turned me into a ferret and bounced me around the corridor. When I catch up to him, I'll repay him for that. But for now, I guess I'll get just get you for starting it!" 

Neville's brow creased. Why bring up that memory? There were dozens of other insults Draco could have brought up. Twigged by this oddity, Neville was already on edge when Draco almost lazily pointed his wand at him. 

"_Crucio!_" 

Neville screamed, twisting. The Death Eater let him go as he fell, still screaming, to the floor. Neville, however, felt no pain. There had been no force behind the spell, the only effect an uncomfortable tingling. He screamed and writhed, one eye on Draco. When he lowered his wand, Neville subsided, gasping, lying as if dazed at the feet of the Death Eater. 

"Malfoy!" Hermione shrieked, struggling against her captor. 

Draco smirked. "You wanted something, Mudblood?" 

There was a murmur through the assembled Death Eaters. "Kill the Mudblood . . . kill the Mudblood . . . kill her . . ." 

Draco glanced over his shoulder at Voldemort, who was grinning like a cat in the cream. The Dark Lord gestured for him to go ahead. Draco nodded, smirking. He raised his wand, and the Death Eater holding Hermione backed away, his wand trained on her to keep her from running. Neville tensed, readied himself. Ron began to struggle. 

"_Avada_ . . ." the Draco was turning, bringing the wand to bear on Voldemort himself, moving too fast to be stopped. ". . ._ Kedavra!_" 

In the blinding flash of green light burst from Draco's wand, Neville was moving. Flailing out awkwardly, he tripped the Death Eater behind him, and was on his feet as he fell into the one who had been holding Hermione. Neville grabbed an abandoned wand and flung a transfiguration spell at Voldemort, slumped on the throne. He hadn't quite meant to, but Voldemort bubbled and shrank into the limp form of a ferret. 

Draco dove sideways, Stunning or Binding the few Death Eaters not still stunned by events. Ron had stomped on his captor's doot, slugging him the second he let go. The snake was rearing, the ferret was twitching, Death Eaters were shouting and curses were being flung their way. Neville joined Draco in trying to keep the Death Eaters at bay, while Hermione grabbed one of the fallen Death Eater's wands, Stunned the snake, and shouted, "_Accio_ ferret!" 

The furry tyrant flew into her hand, twitching slightly. Ron stumbled down the steps, a stolen wand in hand, and hauled Harry up. 

"Back of the hall, go right," Malfoy snapped. "I'll cover you." 

"The hell you will," Neville growled. "You're coming with us." 

Draco glanced at him in surprise, then nodded. They began running towards the back, ducking hexes and curses, Hermione clutching the ferret and Ron supporting Harry. It was a flat-out run through the mansion, Draco neutralising every defence. 

"The Weasley girl's outside," Draco panted as they ran. "You've been here for two days. I sent an owl to her as soon as you were brought in, but she doesn't know I sent it." 

Neville just nodded. Hermione was in the front, blasting away everything in their path. Ron and Harry, his legs weak from kneeling, hurried after. Draco was just behind Neville, and behind them was the irate mob of elite Death Eaters. They burst out onto the vast manicured sweep of lawn. 

"To the trees!" Draco cried. "Get Potter out of here!" He stopped abruptly, turned as if to face down the mob. 

"Don't be an arse, you bloody drama queen," Neville snorted, grabbing his arm. "Run!" 

There were shouts from the woods ahead of them, and Ginny stepped out of the darkness, flanked by two other students. "You're alive!" she gasped. Harry just nodded. Ginny motioned them back into the woods. "The Aurors are on their way." She glanced out, saw Neville and Draco running towards them and her eyes widened. She opened her mouth to soeak, but clapped her hands over it as if to supress a scream. A wave of Dementors had zoomed over the mansion, flying low just above the horde of Death Eaters, only yards behind Draco. One in the lead raised his wand as Neville glanced over his shoulder. He threw a desperate blocking spell over his shoulder just as the man screamed, "_Avada Kedavra!_" 

The two spells slid off each other, sending the no-longer fatal blast of green light smacking directly into Draco's back. The blond boy went flying through the air, his eyes wide and unseeing. Neville twisted, the weight of Draco's body knocking him to the ground. Draco's lips slid over Neville's briefly, then the lucidity faded from his eyes and he sagged, lifeless, into Neville's arms. 

Onwards to part IV! Excelsior! 


	4. Part IV

Heir Apparent Part IV Heir Apparent Part IV 

Draco came slowly to awareness. The first thing he felt was a dull, throbbing pain through his entire body, coming to a point in the middle of his back where the pain increased tenfold. The next thing he because aware of was that he was in a hard bed, his head supported by a thin pillow and some kind of blanket pulled up over his chest. The third thing was the warm, large, slightly roughened hand folded around his own, and an unmistakeable presence lurking behind it. 

"Neville . . ." he sighed, opening his eyes, slitting them against the sudden light, and smiling up at the worried face looming above him. 

Neville smiled softly in return. "Draco." 

There was a grunt from somewhere to his left, and then the sound of heavy footsteps alternating with a loud thump, as if the walked were carrying a can or staff - 

"So, the boy's awake," a familiar voice growled. 

or had a wooden leg. Draco rolled his head slowly and painfully to look at the old Auror. "Mad-Eye." 

Moody grunted again, and looked at Neville. "Go tell the others Malfoy's awake." 

"Do it yourself," Neville replied, ruthlessly suppressing the quaver in his voice. "I don't trust you alone with him." 

Moody scowled, looking as if he might debate the point, but backed down. "Get him up," was all he said, and turned and stumped out of the room. 

Neville relaxed, then turned back to the pale blond boy. "Can you sit up?" he asked gently. Draco didn't reply, but tried to get his hands under himself, reluctantly letting go of Neville's hand and trying to ignore the pain. He raised himself up, but his arms were trembling almost immediately and with a little cry of pain he collapsed back to the bed. Immediately Neville was there, a strong arm slipping behind his shoulders, lifting him up, and another acorss his stomach, moving him gently back against the headboard as soon as he was upright. Draco winced and hissed as his back touched the rough bars. Still supporting him with one arm, Neville flicked his wand around the room. "_Accio_ pillow! _Accio! Accio! Accio!_", deftly tucking the pillows behind Draco's back before slowly removing his arm. 

"All right there?" 

Draco nodded slightly. "Yes. Thank you." After taking a moment to settle himself, he glanced curiously around the room. "Where are we? How long was I out?" His voice cracked on the last word, and Neville wordlessly handed him a glass of water as he answered. 

"Almost nine hours now. Mad-Eye was almost sure you were never going to wake up." 

"Wasn't much of a curse I was hit with, the, was it?" Draco asked, a hint of a ghost of a smirk touching his lips. 

Neville's voice was sober. "Draco, it was the Killing Curse." 

"Oh." 

There was silence for a minute. Then Neville said, "We're at the Burrow. The Weasleys' house. We've been using it as a base." 

Draco nodded. "I know." He looked around the room again. It was obviously some kind of makeshift infirmary, judging by the beds and rolls of bandages. Just as obviously it had once been a living room, from the portraits on the walls and the soot-stained fireplace. A mangy ginger cat with a squashed-looking face regarded them from the top of a cabinet. 

Neville had taken Draco's hand again, but released it as the door snicked open and Mad-Eye came back in, followed by an odd assortment. There was Hildebrand Patton, second-in-command of the Aurors under Moody, the Minister for Magic Rasmus Greenwood, Arther Weasley, and last came the terrible trio, none looking the worse for the wear. They approached the bed cautiously, as if Draco might suddenly attack. 

"Longbottom!" Patton snapped warily. "Get that wand away." 

"Draco can barely lift his arms," Neville retorted. "I serious doubt he's any kind of a threat." 

"Oh, it's _Draco_ now, is it?" Ron demanded. 

Neville bristled. "Yes, Ron, _Draco_ was the one who took down Voldemort -" 

Draco straightened suddenly, his eyes wide. "Voldemort! Where is he? What happened to -" 

Neville placed his hands firmly on Draco's shoulders, pushing him gently back against the pillows. "It's fine, Draco. He's in a cage, Stunned, under guard and so many wards it would take a team of Aurors twenty years to crack them all." 

Draco subsided, his face even paler than usual. "Thank God." 

Patton folded his arms. "Well, Malfoy, now that you're awake, we have a few questions for you." At Draco's nod, he continued. "Whydid you decide to switch sides, especially when it appeared that you were on the way to winning?" 

"I decided a long time ago that I didn't like my role," Draco said, all traces of arrogance gone and sounding so like he had amidst the ruins that tears pricked at Neville's eyes, "So I decided to change my lines." 

"How long ago was this change of heart?" Patton asked, his eyes intent. 

"Before Voldemort came to Hogwarts." 

There were varying degress of shock on the faces in the room. "Expand," was all Patton could get out. 

"I had a place readied for me at the Dark Lord's right hand," Draco said, his voice neutral. "I knew how powerful he had become, how fixated on Potter. There was no way someone could get close enough to destroy him. Every undercover agent you tried to get close to him would have been put under Imperius and made to reveal his loyalties. All new recruits were. Only those already proven faithful would get by - like me. When Potter was finally captured, it was the perfect opportunity. The Dark Lord was so intent on your pain, Potter, he didn't realise anything was wrong until too late." 

"You had this plan in mind when you witnessed the deaths of five of your former classmates and put Neville under Cruciatus?" Mr. Weasley demanded. 

"Yes to the first," Draco replied, stone-faced. "But as to the second -" 

"He never put me under Cruciatus," Neville broke in, unwilling to reveal what had happened on the hill that night. "I was acting." 

"Looked real to me," Ron muttered, glaring at Draco. 

"And you did not put Longbottom under Imperius for the second part of your . . . plan?" Patton continued. 

Draco shook his head emphatically. "No. Nor would I have. I'm just glad he twigged on to it." For the first time in the crossexamination he smiled, glancing sideways at Neville. "But I dare say, did you have to make it a ferret?" 

Neville grinned in reply. "You did kind of get the mental image stuck in my head." 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione snickered briefly, subsiding under the glares shot at them by the adults. "Now," Moody said, folding his arms. "How did you know that wouldn't kill the Royal Git?" 

"I studied him," Draco said, his face sober once more. "His body is constructed of magic. You can't kill him - no one can, not even Potter. He's immune to everything - including a knife to the heart. The only spell that had the slightest effect on him is Avada Kedavra, and even that only stunned him. Once he's Stunned, all his wards collapse, which is why Neville could transfigure him. Only the wards in his body itself are left - thanks to Potter's blood, here." 

"What do you suggest we do, then?" Patton asked with a trace of sarcasm. "I suppose you've got that figured out, as well." 

Draco nodded. "Water. Transfigure him into massive amounts of water, then spread it across everyocean on the planet. Boil some. Spread it as thin as you can. If you destroy his body, you'd only release his spirit. By turning him into water, his spirit will spread thin, too. There won't be enough cohesion to formulate even a thought." 

Moody scratched his chin. "It would work. But water's tricky. I'll get some people on it." He turned and stumped out of the room, gesturing for Patton to follow in his wake. 

The Minister, who hadn't spoken yet, cleared his throat. "Well, Mr. Malfoy, your help has been greatly appreciated in helping with young Harry's defeat of V-Voldemort." Harry's face went red and Neville opened his mouth to protest, but the slight pressure of Draco's fingers on his hand stilled him. Greenwood continued, oblibious. "However, you have committed crimes of your own, including use of the Unforgivable Curses. You will be tried before a panel of judges, as all the captured Death Eaters. Don't worry, your recent actions will be taken into account. 

Draco nodded. "Yes, sir, I understand. I will face the consequences of my actions." 

Greenwood looked as if he had been expecting a bit more of a fight. "Well, uh, very good. I'll leave you in the hand of Harry, who will decide if you will be imprisoned or not until your trial. Well, goodbye gentlemen, lady." And with that he left. Arthur Weasley followed a moment later, after ruffling Ron's hair in a fatherly sort of way. The three teenagers at the foot of the bed stood there awkwardly as silence descended. 

"Look, Malfoy," Harry blurted finally. "I tried to tell them I didn't do anything, it was all you and Neville and Hermione, but they wouldn't -" 

"It's alright, Potter," Draco said quietly, a trace of bitterness in his voice and a twisted half-smile of self-loating on his face. "The people need a hero. I'm the Bad Guy, remember?" 

"Draco . . ." Neville sighed reproachfully. 

"Don't 'Draco' me," the blond boy snapped. "You know it's true. Potter is the hero they want, not me. Never me." He closed his eyes and leant his head back against the pillows. Neville threw a reproachful look at the three Griffindors, who left silently. 

When they had gone, Neville took hold of Draco's hand again, almost unthinkingly. "Harry isn't the hero I want," he murmured. 

Draco's eyes snapped open, twisting to look over at Neville. His voice was very pained and dry. "He isn't?" 

They both kne there was more riding on this answer than what appeared. A little smile on his face, Neville shook his head. "No, he isn't." _You are_. The words hovered between them, unsaid but very tangible. 

After an infinitely long short pause, Draco returned the smile and dropped his head back against the pillow. "Good to know," he murmured, and laughed. 

No one came to bother them. Draco slept in fitful bursts, but whenever he woke, Neville was at his side, holding his hand or smoothing his hair down or with a glass of water if he needed it. At some point, Neville must have left or someone came in, because there were two steaming bowls of beef stew at Neville's elbow the next time he woke. They didn't speak much, but it was okay. They had hit a strange kind of calm. The war was over, yes, but soon the real world would intrude again. 

As Draco drifted out of sleep again, he noticed that the pain had receded almost entirely, leaving just an ache in his back. Neville's head was resting on his folded arms on the edge of Draco's bed. Thinking him asleep - finally - Draco lifted his hand and ran his fingers through Neville's short, scruffy hair, caressing his temple with his thumb. 

Neville gave a little mew of pleasure and Draco hastily removed his hand, knee-jerk reaction to finding him awake. Neville raised his head, brown eyes sleeping, a questioning look in them. "Why did you stop?" he asked quietly, pushing himself upright. 

Draco didn't answer, but grabbed Neville's bicep, tugging him onto the bed. The other boy went willingly, settling sideways between Draco's parted legs, on top of the covers with his legs dangling over the side. They gazed at each other, Draco's hand still resting on Neville's arm. Slowly, as if in a dream, Draco reached up and ran a hand down the side of Neville's face, brushing a stray hair off his forehead with his thumb. The hand slipped around to the back of his neck, and Neville followed the soft pressure eagerly, his arms coming up around Draco as his head was drawn down. They bumped noses briefly, both a little awkward, then their lips found each other's, and everything was all right. Their gentle, exploratory kisses turned swiftly into rough sparring matches as their teenage hormones thundered through their bodies. The world narrowed down to a few points of contact - their lips, their hands caressing skin, their thighs pressing against each other. 

Neville finally broke the kiss, pushing slightly away from Draco as he panted. He drank in the sight of those grey eyes, huge and dark, filled with emotion, pale blond hair slightly tousled, lips parted as he panted for breath. "You're so beautiful," Neville breathed, and lowered his mouth to Draco's once again. His arms slid aroun Draco tighter even as the blond boy did the same. Suddenly Draco hissed, arching away from Neville's hands. Neville swore, breaking the kiss immediately and pulling away. 

"Oh god, Draco, I'm sorry, I never thought . . . you must still be so sore . . ." 

Draco shook his head quickly, tightening his arms around Neville. "No, no, I'm fine, it doesn't hurt -" 

But Neville was already pulling away, loosening Draco's grip. "No. We shouldn't do this. Not when you're still injured." 

Draco almost whimpered with need, grabbing at his arm. "Please . . . I need this . . . I've thought of nothing but you since I left . . . please . . . at least . . ." Here his voice trailed off and the colour rose in his pale cheeks. 

"At least what?" Neville asked breathlessly. 

"Can you . . ." Draco swallowed, wondering why this one request was so hard, after ordering the deaths of innocent people. "Can you stay with me tonight? I mean, in bed . . . you need to sleep anyway . . ." 

Neville half-surprised himself by nodding immediately. He clambered off the bed so Draco could slide sideways, rearranging the pillows and making sure the other boy was completely comfortable before kicking off his shoes and socks. After a moment's deliberation, he shucked off his trousers, folding them over the chair. A flick of his wand extinguished the lights in the room, and he slid under the covers beside the blond boy. They lay there awkwardly for a moment, not touching, and both acuetly aware of their own breathing. Finally Neville sighed and rolled onto his back, letting one hand drift over to rest on Draco's. "Goodnight, Draco." 

"Goodnight." 

A few hours later, Hermione poked her head round the door, the shaft of light from the hallway laying square across Draco's bed. They had moved in their sleep, Neville on his back put turned slightly towards Draco, the other boy sprawled across Neville's chest with his head tucked into his shoulder. Neville's arm was draped possessively across Draco's. Ron poked his head in over Hermione's, sucking in a surprised breath as he saw them. Harry followed suit, but the sight only confirmed a suspicion that had been growing in his mind. 

Firmly, Hermione closed the door and they moved a few steps down the hallway. Ron folded his arms and let out a breath explosively. 

"Now there's a bit of a shocker," he said in a low voice, so as not to disturb the sleepers. 

"Y'know," Hermione mused. "I've always had my suspicions about Neville, but I though Draco was, well, violently straight." 

Ron shuddered. "Neville's welcome to boff whoever he wants, but did it have to be Malfoy?" 

Hermione made a little mou of disgust. "I mean, honestly. Is he a masochist or something? They can't be _that_ heavily involved -" 

"They are," Harry interjected brusquely, and his friends turned to look at him in surprise. 

"What? Are you off your rocker?" Ron spluttered. "It's Malfoy!" 

Harry swung his head up to glare at Ron. "Look, Ron, you know as well as I do that Malfoy should be dead now. He got hit with the Killing Curse. There's no defense against it." 

"But Neville threw that warding charm," Hermione protested. "It deflected the curse." 

Harry shook his head. "It should have punched right through it. There's only one thing that can protect against the Killing Curse, I should know." 

Ron huffed. "Fine, then, what is it?" 

But Hermione had already guessed. Her eyes widened. "Love," she gasped. "Love is what saved you, Harry, so . . ." 

Harry nodded, his face grim. "Only Neville didn't die, which is why Malfoy got hurt. This changes things." 

Hermione nodded. "A lot of things." 

"I'll say," Ron finished. 

What? There's more? Part V! 


	5. Part V

Heir Apparent Part V Heir Apparent Part V 

Draco recovered slowly but steadily. He didn't leave the infirmary, and few people came in. They found out what was going on by way of the _Daily Prophet_, nicked by Neville every morning. The last of the Death Eaters were being rounded up in Europe, and the pockets of resistence in the rest of the world were being eaily defeated. Voldemort had been so confident in his own longevity that he had very few intelligent lieutenants left, with Draco's desertion and the neutralisation of the European operations. Muggle-born witches and wizards were coming out of hiding and a list of the dead and missing was being drawn up. There was no partying in the streets as last time news of Voldemort's defeat had spread. People were more wary this time, and most seemed to eager to go back to Business as Usual as soon as possible. 

Neville glanced up one morning as Draco began to read something in an ironic, self-mocking voice. "'There are still no reports as to the whereabouts of Draco Malfoy, one of You-Know-Who's most ardent supporters in the recent conflict. There is some speculation as to whether he was killed in the battle between Harry Potter and the Dark Lord. The Ministry has declined to comment, neither confirming nor denying these rumours. It is the sincerest hope of this reporter that they do, in fact, prove to be accurate.'" He threw down the newspaper, turning away. 

"Those idiots don't know anything," Neville scoffed, perched on the edge of the bed and smoothing a piece of hair back from Draco's face. "Remember the total rot they printed about Harry a few years ago?" 

Draco was quiet for a moment, then turned to look at Neville again. "What's going to happen when I go to trial?" 

"I don't know," Neville answered just as quietly, reaching out an taking Draco's hand. "I don't know." 

Three days later, Draco was arrested. Patton had a brief talk with Harry before striding into the infirmary with two Aurors at his heels. Draco and Neville glanced up from their game of chess when they came in and froze, groping unconsciously for each others' hand. Patton cleared his throat. 

"Draco Malfoy, I am hereby placing you under arrest for war crimes, including, but not limited to, use of the Unforgivable Curses, torture, murder, collaboration to murder, and illegal use of charms and curses. Do you accept the charges?" 

Draco swallowed, his face paler than usual. He nodded. "I do." 

Patton nodded. "Your trial will commence in two days. Arthur Weasley has volunteered to speak for you. You can organise your defence with him while under our custody." 

Draco nodded in acknowledgement. "I understand. May I dress?" 

The Auror hesitated before ducking his head in assent. "Five minutes. We'll be outside." Then he went out, the Aurors following him. 

Draco took a deep breath. "Help me?" Neville nodded and hurried to his side, helping him make his way out of bed. His robes lay, washed and folded, on a chair nearby, and as soon as the blond boy was standing Neville helped him into them, moving slowly. Draco was almost recovered, but his limbs still trembled with use after a few minutes. When he was fully clothed, he raked his fingers through his hair, trying to neaten it, and took a deep breath, readying himself. Neville offered his arm, seeing his knees starting to tremble, but was waved away. Back straight, head unbowed, Draco walked out of the room, wordlessly handing his wand to Patton. 

Faces lines the staircase, peeking around corners and doors as they passed through the house, solmn faces of the remaining Hogwarts students. Harry was by the fireplace, his face unreadable. As the Aurors prepared to Floo away, he thrust out his hand at the ex-Slytherin. Draco looked at him in some surprise, but after a moment's hesitation accepted it, shaking gingerly. Then he was being prodded into the fireplace, and there was barely time for a hastily exchanged glance with Neville over Patton's shoulder. Then they were gone. 

Neville stood there, silent, his face like a stone. Delicately, Hermione lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, and he didn't shrug it away. 

The next two days were murder. Neville thought that fighting through the war against him was hard, not knowing if Draco's feelings were genuine, or even his reciprocated. But now, knowing how he felt and being seperated so soon . . . Neville didn't allow himself to think of what lay beyond the trial. The sentence for Voldemort's supporters wasn't a lifetime in Azkaban anymore - it was death. 

The day of the trial dawned clear and, in Neville's opinion, far too bright. After a hasty breakfast, the five Gryffindors Flooed to the Ministry of Magic, where the ongoing Death Eater trials were being held. They had all been called as character witnesses - four for the prosecution, Neville for the defence - and to explain the circumstances of Voldemort's capture. The trial was held in the foreboding dungeon that had been used for this purpose in the past, seventeen years ago. A stout wooden chair stood at the very front, heavy iron manacles attached to arms and legs. The jury was already there, eleven grim-faced witches and wizards in a row, facing outwards. 

They took their seats on stone benches in the spectators' area. Neville glanced around curiously, noting the cluster of witches and a couple wizards around Mr. Weasley - Draco's defence, but he couldn't see how. 

There was a grating clang as a huge iron-studded door at the far end was thrown open. The low buzz of conversation abruptly stopped as every head craned to look. The only sounds in the great room were the scratching of quills from the press section and the heavy tromp of booted feet. Draco was marched in, his short form dwarfed by the Aurors who flanked him. His bloodless face and silvery hair were in stark contrast to the black robes he wore, now highly creased and rumpled. His face was neutral, grave, but the grey eyes that swept the crowd were alive, fearful but penitent. When they rested on Neville, a faint flicker of relief passed over them. 

He sat without being directed, not struggling as the manacles were clamped in place and tightened, still dangling too loose on his boyish limbs. Rasmus Greenwood followed them in and took his place as judge. They went through the few formalities, then the prosecution was called. They made the usual case, citing eyewitness reports of Draco acting upon the Dark Lord's orders, his knowledge of Voldemort's habits and organisation, called forward witnesses to testify as to Draco's acknowledged connection to the Dark Arts and his behaviour at school. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were reticient about cataloguing Draco's faults now, but the picture they painted was, in general, a bad one. 

Arthur Weasley alleviated that, however, upon cross-examinig them, bringing out the willing truth from Harry. Draco defeated Voldemort. There was a gasp and a murmur through the crowd as people's illusions were shattered, a murmur that continued as Harry outlined the entire encounter, including his virtual non-participation in the running spell-battle. 

"And how do you feel about that?" Mr. Weasley asked shrewdly. 

Harry shrugged. "Relieved, I guess. Voldemort's as good as dead, most of the people I care about are still alive. We survived." 

"You don't feel resentful at all, like Draco was stealing your thunder?" 

Harry shook his head. "Not really. I never had much thunder to begin with. He's welcome to it. I don't want it." 

Mr. Weasley paused a moment to let that sink in before asking his next question. "And what did you mean by 'as good as dead'?" 

Harry looked uncomfortable. "Well, no one can kill Voldemort - he's too powerful. But Ma-Draco told us that by Transfiguring him into water, we can spread him so thin he'll never be a threat again. Moody and his people confirmed it." 

Mr. Weasley nodded. "So Draco also aided in the permanent destruction of Voldemort, as well as his capture?" 

"Yeah, I guess so." 

"And why were you inclined to accept Draco's advice so readily?" 

"Well, Neville obviously trusted him, and Neville is a good judge of character." 

"And how did you know Mr. Longbottom trusted him? He could have been under Imperius." 

Harry shifted awkwardly in his seat. "Do I really have to answer that, Mr. Weasley?" he mumbled. 

"Yes, boy, I think you do." 

Harry shot a pleading glance at Neville, whose brow knit in confusion. He had no idea what was going on. Harry looked down at his hand, clenched in his lap, and spoke in a clear voice, but completely monotone. "As we were running from the Death Eaters after capturing Voldemort that night, one of them tried to kill Draco using the Killing Curse. Neville stopped and tried to block it with a spell. The blast obviously didn't kill him, just knocked him out." Harry took a deep breath. "That curse should have killed Draco, and speaking as the only other survivor of it, I think I know why Draco didn't die. And that's how I know Neville trusts him." 

Mr. Weasley was relentless. "What is the protection, Harry?" 

He was silent for a moment, and when he did replied, it was scarcely audible. "Love," he said. "You need to be protected by love." 

Draco's head swung up, his wide eyes fixed on Neville's as a shocked silence descended on the hall. After a suitably dramatic pause, Mr. Weasley patted Harry on the shoulder kindly. "That's all, son, you can go." 

Ron and Hermione confirmed Harry's account of the events of that night, Ginny adding her part of the story; the anonymous owl, seeing Neville protect Draco from the Killing Curse. The prosecution rested, with a rather weak plea to have the worst possible penalty conferred upon him. Then Mr. Weasley really got going. There was a faint murmur of surprise as the first witness called was a middle-aged witch, shots of grey already colouring her frizzy hair and lines of care around her eyes. She took the stand somewhat timidly, perched on the edge of the seat rather nervously, clutching an oversized handbag and looking as if she might flee at any moment. 

"Now then, Mrs. Roberts, can you tell us how came to meet young Malfoy here?" Mr. Weasley asked kindly. 

The lady took a deep breath. "It was a few months after the war began," she started. "M-my husband, he was Muggle-born. My mother had Muggle blood. We knew we'd be targeted, so we took precautions. They - they didn't help. Death Eaters came. I hid in a closet, put up an Invisibility Charm, with my two eldest children. My youngest hid in a crawlspace. My husband went out to face them, try to convince them that we had fled the country. I don't know exactly what happened -" her voice quavered here, and she had to pause to take a few steadying breaths. When she resumed, her voice was stronger. "I don't know what happened, but suddenly I could hear them in the house, shouting orders, tearing things apart. Then the closet door was flung open, and the Charm wavered. Malfoy was standing there, and I knew he could see us. He checked to see if there was anyone else in the room, then leaned in and asked me if there was anyone else in the house. I didn't answer. Then he hissed, 'Your husband is dead, if you want them to live, tell me where they are." I was terrified, but I answered. I told him where my baby boy was. Then he slammed the door. A few minutes later, the door opened again, and he shoved my baby at me. He told me to stay quiet, then I heard another Death Eater come up. Malfoy yelled at him, 'I've already checked up here. Looks like the Mudblood was telling the truth.' Then they all left." She almost broke down again, but bravely rallied through. "Draco Malfoy is not quite the monster he appears," she said, finishing witha quiet dignity and gazing out at the jury with clear eyes. The prosecution had no questions, and the witch stepped down. 

There was a moment of almost silence, filled with the rustling of papers and the murmur of the judges, then Mr. Weasley called his next witnesses, a parade of people with stories similar to the witch's - of unexpected help from Draco. Neville could almost feel the mood in the room changing, lightening, with each new story. Through it all, Draco sat, back straight and face blank. After his initial surprise at Harry's revelation earlier, he made no reaction - until Neville himself was called. as if the mention of his name and the sight of the gangly, blocky figure walking towards him had snapped something in Draco, he lost all control of his face, raw emotion playing across his features. Neville was careful not to lock eyes, knowing that if he did all would be lost. 

With a calmness he didn't feel, Neville took the stand. At Mr. Weasley's prompting, Neville sketched in the months of clandestine meetings in the ruined outbuilding, retelling the little details that said much, the almost double life he led at Hogwarts. He skated over their last meeting, not mentioning Cruciatus - or what came after. 

Through Neville's almost-monologue - Mr. Weasley occasionally asking clarifying questions - his three friends sat motionless, speechless, as he spelled out what had been going on under their noses for moths. Harry found himself wondering why they had never noticed Neville's absences all those nights. Neville thought they were on the home stretch - until the prosecution stepped up. 

First, he was made to dredge up every injury and insult Malfoy had ever paid him, the telling of each painfully dragged from him. Still, it was nothing they hadn't already heard from Ron or Hermione. Then came the questions Neville was dreading. 

"So, Mr. Longbottom," the cross-examining wizard said, pacing a small furrow in front of the witness stand, "On the night of, ah, Voldemort's defeat, Mlafoy did use the Cruciatus Curse on you, is that correct?" 

"Ah, no, sir, it's not," Neville replied. There was a shocked murmur and the rustling a papers. 

The wizard blinked, taken aback. "The reports by Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and Ms. Granger all say the opposite. Would you care to explain?" 

Neville nodded. "It only appeared that I was affected, sir. The curse had no power behind it. I acted as if it did so the Death Eaters would think I was incapacitated, so I could surprise him later." 

"So Malfoy never used an Unforgivable Curse on you?" 

"No, sir, not that night." Please let it go at that, he prayed. Unhappily, the wizard was too good. His eyes narrowed. 

"That night?" he repeated. "Then has Malfoy ever used Cruciatus or Imperius on you? I must remind you that you are under oath." 

Neville debated wildly with himself for a long moment, then realised his very silence incriminated Draco. "Yes," he said finally. "Yes, he did." 

"When?" 

Neville was painfully aware of the silence pressing in on him. "The night before Voldemort came to Hogwarts." 

"Cruciatus?" 

"Yes." 

"Was this the reason you stopped these trysts?" the prosecution pressed on. 

"No." 

He sighed explosively, frustrated. "Did this serve to change your opinion of him in any way?" 

"Neville's eyes flashed. "Most definitely not. Draco was trying to make me hate him so what he had to do wouldn't hurt me. He needed it and I gave it to him. But I couldn't -" abruptly he shut up, realising he almost said too much. 

The wizard leaned in close. "You _allowed_ Malfoy to use Cruciatus on you, the same curse that drove both your parents insane?" 

Draco's face went very, very pale and Neville's went very, very red. He also decked the man. "Leave my parents out of this," he hissed. But the wizard's face was irritatingly smug. 

"Prosecution rests." 

Greenwood stood and cleared his throat, nodding to Neville to step down. "In light of the . . . rather surprising evidence persented, the jury will deliver their verdict in two hours. Court adjourned until then." 

It was the most nervous two hours Neville had ever spent. Draco had been marched swiftly from the chamber in the wake of the grim-faced jury, and the noise level rose as everyone began talking to each other. Hermione reached over and nudged Neville's arm, indicating her desire to get some air and conveying an invitation. He nodded curtly and stood, edging towards the door, and pretended not to hear the drop in converstaion or see the heads turning towards him. 

Hermione watched him worriedly as they took a silent stroll around the main lobby of the Ministry building. Neville was distracted, worried, glancing continuall towards the judicial chamber. Hermione found herself seeing him in a new light, much as Draco had. Puberty had given him height and breadth and spared him from acne. He wasn't as handsome as Harry, nor so tall as Ron, but when not hunched under the burden of everyone else's misconceptions, he had his own kind of attractiveness. He would be a wonderful husband for anyone - except for the fact that his thoughts were clearly not on anyone of female persuasion. 

"You really do care for Malfoy, don't you?" she blurted out suddenly, stopping to face him. 

Neville gave her a startled, sidelong look before his face twisted into a tiny half-smile. "Yeah, Hermione, I really do." 

She grinned abruptly and said in a light voice, "Well, there's no accounting for taste." She threw her arms around him impulsively and everything was alright. 

They took their seats againa few minutes before the deliberation period was up, sitting quietly with Hermione gripping Neville's hand nervously, both pretending he wasn't gripping back. Draco was marched back in, but left unshackled, which Neville took as a good sign. Greenwood formally brought the court to session, and then glanced down at the verdict in his hand. Hermione's nails dug into Neville's palm, but he barely felt it. The Minister cleared his throat. "We find the accused, Draco Malfoy, to be guilty of being a Death Eater in Voldemort's employ and to using the Unforgivable Curses on more than one occasion." 

Neville felt all the feeling drain from his body, but was riveted by the man's voice. 

"However, due to the evidence presented and the ambiguity of his role in the recent conflict, we rule that the death sentence be waived." 

Neville could suddenly breathe again. 

"We therefore sentence Draco Malfoy to two years solitary confinement in Azkaban Prison." 

Two years! That was practically a death sentence! No one survived two years in Azkaban! 

Greenman continued amidst the eerie silence that had fallen, a shocked silence. Shock that was mirrored in Draco's face, mixed in with peculiar resignment. Neville wondered if Draco still suffered from his illusions about the 'roles' they all had. Greenman raised a hand, silencing the already quiet crowd. The twinkle in his eye was faintly reminiscent of Dumbledore. "The court is reminded," said loudly, cutting through the mumurs, "That the Dementors no longer hold sway over Azkaban. The jailors are now ordinary witches and wizards." 

Neville's heart soared again. Two years suddenly wasn't that long. Then people were filing out and Draco was being marched away. Neville moved almost without thinking, vaulting over the dividing rail and pushing past Mr. Weasley. Draco broke away from the Aurors, who, after a curt gesture from Greenwood, didn't grab him back. Not caring who was watching, the swept into each other's arms, embracing fiercely as if they would never let go. 

"I love you," Draco murmured into Neville's neck, unwilling to move even to speak. Neville didn't reply directly, just pulled back far enough to find his mouth, sealing them together with a final kiss, squeezing even tighter. "See you in two years," he breathed. Then the Aurors pulled them apart. 

**FIN**


End file.
